Nida's Tale
by Micah Rodney
Summary: At age seven, Nida believes that he understands how things work in Timber. How the people have food rationed out to them to keep them in line. How nobody has much of anything unless they work for Galbadia. Nida believes he is grown up enough to understand the world around him. Until his Father comes home and begins talking about this strange place called "Garden".


"Four ration cards this week," came the tired voice of Father.

Nida had come to recognize that defeated tone in his voice. As the splintered wooden door fell shut, the boy was not at all surprised to see the dour expression and the slumped shoulders. The olive-green coat was in tatters, and the brown scarf moth-eaten. The overall impression was of a man who had been partially consumed. Life had, quite literally, chewed him up and spat him back out. This was the way he'd come home every day for as long as Nida could remember.

"They can't be serious," Mother said, running a partially-mildewed sponge along the lip of a cheap plastic cup. The dingy yellow was one of the few dishes they had left, and they had to make it last, despite the variety of stains.

"Of course, they are," said Father. "Hungry citizens are docile citizens."

Mother gave a cautionary look in Nida's direction. The boy hated this. What Mother was implying was all too obvious: _this talk is too grown up for him. _They acted as though the child was still a baby, living in the hazy fantasy of semi-awareness. He was seven now. And years under martial law matured a person two-fold.

He brushed the dirty brown hair out of his face and sat up straight. His back pressed against the hard, wooden kitchen chair, and his hands folded atop the cracked round table. He did his best to seem "grown up". Compared to his thin mother and his slouching father, he thought he cut a pretty impressive figure.

"I'm not a child anymore," Nida said resolutely. "You can tell me."

Father's miserable look shifted slightly. Nida had noted the distinction from a very young age. It was subtle, but whenever Father looked at him, he didn't seem sad in quite the same way. He wondered if he felt somehow responsible for their plight. Why? Father hadn't fought in the Resistance. It wasn't his fault that the people of Timber were treated like criminals.

"They're letting ten students attend Garden this year," Father said, his eyes darting over to Mother who had slowly begun to rub her cheek. "Six to Galbadia, two to Trabia, two to Balamb. Only children of non-Resistance members."

"If I didn't know any better, I would say they wanted to separate us from our children," Mother said, sitting down beside Nida.

Before Nida knew what was happening, she was pulling him into a hug. Despite Nida's earlier confidence, these were some new words. Garden? Did Father mean like the vegetable garden mother grew in the backyard? And what were Trabia and Balamb? Nida recognized Galbadia, of course. They were the neighboring nation that had occupied Timber since before Nida was born.

"Of course, they do. They want an entire generation to grow up outside this mess so that they don't grow up to fight in the Resistance," Father said.

"I won't let them take my baby," Mother said resolutely.

Nida felt water droplets on his hair.

"We can't feed all three of us on twelve meals a week, Jacqueline," said Father. "Garden feeds their students _three _meals _every _day. The boy could get an education and do something with his life."

"Sure," Mother hissed, clenching Nida tighter. "He could go become one of _them_."

"At least he'd be safe," Father said firmly.

Mother could not muster a response but continued to cling to Nida. What was happening? And why was Mother so sad? What boy were they talking about? Surely not Nida. Nida was going to stay here with his parents. They'd never had much to eat, but with some help from the vegetable garden and a few bits of contraband from the old man next door they'd survived up to now. Nida wasn't even that hungry. Nida didn't need much to eat. Nida didn't have to go anywhere. Nida didn't want to leave.

Nida didn't want to leave.

"Nida," Father said, finally addressing the boy properly. "Do you know what Garden is?"

"No," Nida said. He tried to rival his mother's grip on him.

Father explained. A school where they would teach you how to be a soldier, how to become stronger, how to do all sorts of amazing things. Nida would see the world, he would rise in the ranks of the military and become a leader of men. One day, he might even own a mansion in Deling City. Nida didn't want any of that. Nida wanted to stay right here. Nida didn't want a mansion. He didn't want a _door-mi-tor-ee_ or whatever that word was. He wanted the small steel house, with the splintered wooden door, the stained dishes, and the dirty table. He wanted Mother and Father. He didn't want to leave.

"Nida," Mother said when Father had finished his speech. "You should go."

This hurt him. Father had brought up this silly idea but surely Mother would be on his side. Why was Mother doing this to him? Did she not love him anymore? Was that it? Were they sending him away because he'd been bad?

"I don't want to!" Nida cried out finally. "I promise I'll be good. I won't eat too much, I promise!"

"Nida," Mother said, trying to steady her son, while still fighting back her own tears. "Nida, you _have _to go."

Nida buried his face into his Mother's lap, unable to contain his grief any further. Mother gently stroked his hair, as she tried to offer him some explanation.

"I want you to go to this school and I want you to promise me that you'll be safe. I want you to grow up strong and happy," she said.

Nida could only hear part of what she was saying now, his senses choked by his agony. He could barely find time to breathe between staggered sobs.

"Just stay safe. Stay out of sight and don't get into trouble. Please, Nida. Just live."


End file.
